Bear Necessities
by Soleneus
Summary: A drunk Junior takes a short-cut down a shady alley and surprise, something bad happens. Or is it good? Bad for every other criminal, that's for sure. A new and improved Junior has his eyes on the Underworld, and now he has the ambition and the power to get started on taking over. Now, he just needs allies in a pit of snakes, sharks and gangsters...This'll end well, I'm sure.


It began, as many stories do, with someone of ill-repute walking through a shady alley. His name was Hei Xiong (better known as Junior), and he was a criminal. Not a big one, really, he only ran a few small rackets here and there. As far as manpower went, he had maybe twenty men answering to him, and they weren't the best and brightest by a long shot. Still, he made some good money and had plans to expand his business with a club.

All in all, things for Junior were going fine. Tonight, he'd made a few thousand lien from his rackets and spent some of that at a bar on drinks and a few ladies who seemed open to his somewhat clumsy advances. He'd even gotten a couple of numbers.

Pleasantly buzzed and feeling good about himself, he strode confidently, and with only a minor stumble, down a shortcut to his apartment, which was the aforementioned dark alley. He didn't know it yet, people rarely do, but his desire to be a bit lazy would change his life.

As walked down the length of the darkened alley, the bearded man felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen and his skin tingle. His aura flared slightly, but beyond the creepy feeling, there was nothing. Just an empty alley littered with trash. Shaking it off, Junior continued moving forward, only for a ripple to cross his path. He drew up, staring confusedly at the air in front of him. Looking closely, he could barely make a rippling surface hanging almost invisibly in the air in front of him, like the surface of a constantly-disturbed pond pulled from the water.

Against what most would call 'better judgement', Junior reached out and touched the ripples. A quiet chime rang out and he hissed, drawing his finger back as a bone-deep chill invaded it. Grasping his finger, he opened his hand to spy at, finding it looking entirely normal, except for a near-invisible ripple that played over his skin.

Calling on his mostly-unused common sense, Hei Xiong turned and walked away from the rippling phenomena. His first step landed on a mostly-empty bag of chips and slipped, tumbling backward into the ripples just as the portal activated and someone was sent through.

If it had all played out as it was meant to, Junior might've been a witness to something most would consider a myth: the arrival of a dimensional traveler.

As it was, he passed through the universal portal just as the one it was carrying was rematerialized. Inside of his body.

If you've ever had to stuff a cupboard to the brim with stuff, you know that two things can't occupy the same place at the same time. Junior was lucky he'd stumbled through at that exact moment, or he would've been exploded across time and space by a teleporting body. As it were, the other person's essence was pretty much shoved inside of him.

There was a blinding flash of light as the portal terminated, leaving a very confused Junior in an empty alley, clutching his head as it felt like someone had buried an axe in his skull. "The hell…?" he mumbled, staggering to his feet, "Someone must've…spiked my drink…I need to get home…"

Stumbling and swearing like a much drunker man, Hei Xiong managed to get to his apartment building, trip into the elevator and press the button for his floor, then press his throbbing head against the cold metal wall. The ding of arrival made him jump and curse at noise, but he walked slowly to his apartment, fumbled for his keys, and unlocked the door after about a minute.

Inside, he bothered to kick off his shoes and set his red-lensed glasses aside before stumbling to his bedroom and sprawling on his bed like a discontented octopus.

Hei was out like a light in less than a second.

…

He found himself in a dark place, and it took him a second to recognize that it was his planned club, which existed on paper and his imagination. "Kinda dark," he muttered, looking around. "And a bit flat. Maybe glass pillars with strobe lights? Or maybe the whole floor could be lights! That would be expensive, but I think I could cover that…"

"That would look pretty cool," another voice, also male but a bit lighter, more baritone to Junior's bass. It was also completely surprising.

Junior jumped and definitely _didn't_ shriek in surprise. "Who are you?!" he shouted, _not screamed_.

The other guy, standing across from him near the counter of the bar, frowned and jabbed a finger in his ear. "Can you not scream at me? I'm five feet away from you in an empty club, jesus."

He was shorter than Junior by about a foot, with a head of short hair that seemed to be somewhat silver or light brown depending on the angle, and a goatee with streaks of blond in it. His skin was a bit more tan than Junior's, and he had sharp, ice blue eyes that were very striking with the deep bags under them. He was broad shouldered and a bit stocky, much like Junior himself, except shorter.

With his hair and facial features, he probably would be considered ruggedly handsome—at least, except that he always seemed to be on the edge of scowling. He wasn't; that was just what his face looked like.

All in all, if Junior was a bear of a man, this guy was a shorter, angrier-looking bear.

…

His name was Saul Dewitt, and as you may have guessed by the fact he came out of a portal, he was from a different world. He also wasn't a criminal.

He'd had an average life, with the exception of a couple beatings, but that's for later. He had a few friends and a simple job at an office close to his apartment, and most of his nights consisted of playing games, reading books, drinking at the local watering hole, or learning how to fight from a man who called himself 'Sensei', even though he was Taiwanese.

You see, at one point in his life, Saul had been attacked, surprised and beaten. He was rather lucky, all told, as they hadn't broken any bones, but it had happened at a young enough age that it made a very negative impression, as random assault was wont to do. That planted a seed that grew into a strangling vine over his life, and was only reduced to bearable, if paranoid levels, by years of therapy, meditation and other hobbies.

One of which was learning the art of combat. Another was making paintings of fluffy animals, sunrises and flowers, but focus on the former, please. This is where the Taiwanese man named 'Sensei' comes in.

He had found Saul wailing ineffectively away at a punching bag, told him he sucked and offered him a discount at his dojo. That was it. Sensei said he was master in five different fighting styles, but that was probably a lie, like his name. What he _wasn't_ lying about, though, was being able to teach. Under his tutelage, Saul was transformed into someone who didn't suck at hand-to-hand combat, and could hold his own in a fight the one other time he'd been attacked by someone.

It had been in a dark alley much like the one he was walking down currently, after a rather pleasant night of drinking alone in a corner of his local bar and occasionally glancing at the ladies around the room. And much like that night, he took a shortcut home and ended up stumbling onto the home of a not-very-sane homeless man who jumped up and screamed.

Unlike that night, Saul had more than a couple glasses and was more relaxed and thus, instead of instinctively hitting the homeless man in the face with a punch, he jumped back.

And unlike that night, there was a nearly invisible portal behind him.

After Saul vanished in a startled yelp and a flash of light, the homeless man chuckled, muttered, "Serves him right," then went back to sleep.

…

Saul discovered what it felt like to be sucked through a wormhole in time and space, which was what he thought being in a tornado must feel like. Buffeted by sharply cold winds and spun about like a top, it was marvel of mythic proportions that he didn't throw up because of it.

He then saw a flash of what looked like someone else, and then discovered what being rematerialized inside of someone felt like. In short, it hurt, like having every molecule pulled apart and forcefully shoved back together in a space that was now occupied. Being in a blender would've been preferable to the agony he felt.

Luckily, that soul-rending, mind-flaying pain was so bad, so agonizingly painful that he immediately repressed it as it ended, leaving a confused and very sore Saul Dewitt inside of what looked like a club.

It was a nice club, a bit plain, with everything seeming to be made of black glass, but it had potential. Maybe some white behind the counters, a little red for accents, and definitely some strobe lights would make it a swingin' joint.

"Kinda dark," he heard a deep voice mutter and he shot up, clutching his head and leaning on the counter. "And flat. Maybe glass pillars with strobe lights? Or maybe the whole floor could be lights! That would be expensive, but I think I could cover that…"

"That would look pretty cool," Saul voiced his agreement, only for the other man to whip around and screech.

" _Who are you?!_ " The man, who was taller than him by about a foot, screamed in surprisingly high-pitched tone that he tried to cover with a cough.

The sound was like a pickaxe had been driven into his skull. Saul leaned heavily on the counter, sticking a finger in his ear and trying to get rid of the ringing. "Can you not scream at me? I'm five feet away from you in an empty club, jesus," he complained, wishing his head would stop trying to pull itself apart.

The other man in the empty club was tall, close to seven feet, with thick black hair and a matching beard, all neatly trimmed. He had light skin, gray eyes and wore a what looked to be a three-piece suit missing the jacket and a red tie. There was no mistaking the thick cords of muscles on the visible parts of his arms and under his sleeves, and he looked ready to throw down if it came to it.

"I'm just gonna get this out there before anyone panics," Saul declared, pointing sternly at Junior and trying not to wobble, "I have no idea how I got here, where _here_ is, or who you are. My name is Saul Dewitt. You?"

Junior saw that he wasn't going to attack and relaxed, somewhat. "Junior," he said shortly, rubbing his nose and sniffing, "This is, well, my club. Except I got here by falling asleep. And it isn't built yet."

Saul opened his mouth, paused and winced. "Am I in your head?"

Junior grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Gods, I hope not," he muttered. "That would be the perfect end to this night, I swear."

"What happened?" Saul asked, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. At the other man's look, he shrugged. "I don't think I'm going anywhere any time soon, so why not kill some time?"

Hei sighed and lifted his shoulders, sitting down as well. "Alright, fine. I thought it was going pretty well, actually. Got some decent payments, expanded the business a little, got a good contractor to start planning this," he waved at the club around them. "Even got a few numbers. Then I decided to take a shortcut home and tr-fell into some kind of air…water…thing."

The shorter man arched an eyebrow. "The hell does that mean?" he asked incredulously, "'Air-water thing?'"

"Look, it was air rippling like water!" Junior shot back irritably, "Like how a pond ripples, you know? It was just sitting there, in an alley, so I…touched it."

Saul gave him a look that was easily translatable. "You saw some unknown phenomena hanging in the air…and the first thing you do is _touch_ it?" His voice was slow, as if he were talking to a small child. "Are you dumb?"

Hei flushed in embarrassment. "No, I was buzzed!…But yeah, it was dumb. Really cold, too." He shook his hand, phantom pain tingling up his arm.

The shorter man frowned. "Cold?"

"Yeah, _really_ cold," Junior shivered emphatically. "Why?"

"I got pushed into something by an asshole, and from what I remember, it was really cold," Saul frowned, rubbing his temple. "I don't remember what happened after that, only waking up here and being really sore."

"Why does it being cold matter?" Junior asked curiously.

"Because it's a common point," the other man replied. "You said it was ripples…like back and forth ripples, or emanating from the center?"

"Center."

Saul sighed harshly, leaning on the counter. "So, that means something was moving the energy from the middle, and what I fell through was a tube…" He groaned loudly. "Shit!"

"What?" Junior asked, looking at him oddly.

"It was a portal!" Saul shouted, throwing his hands up and startling the other man. "I got pushed through a goddamned portal! But why was it cold, though? Maybe because it was wormhole in time and space? Everyone knows space is cold for the most part, right?" He slumped at the counter, rubbing his face. "I need a drink…"

He jumped as something clinked on the bar next to him, realizing that it was a drink; Scotch, in particular.

"Hey, that was cool," Junior commented, looking around the bar. "I want a drink, too!"

A large glass of fizzing brown drink appeared in front of him, and he gulped it down happily. After quaffing about half of it, Junior glanced at Saul and found him staring at the glass in shock.

"What?"

He pointed to the glass. "I shouldn't have been able to do that," Saul muttered, poking the drink. "This is _your_ mind, how could I affect it…unless…"

"Unless what?" Junior was getting a bit tired of Saul freaking out.

"…Unless this is my mind, too."

The taller man paused, setting his drink down slowly. "…What does that mean?"

Saul licked his lips nervously. "You said you fell through the portal…did it flash as you did?" Junior nodded. "The portal flashed when I went through it, and since you didn't get teleported when you went through, that means…I was teleported inside…of you…"

Junior twitched in the way people do when they receive news that's simultaneously baffling and horrifying. "Inside of me?" he squeaked, hesitantly poking his chest as if expecting a little Saul to pop out of his chest and say hi.

"I occupied an entirely different dimension before I got pushed through the portal," Saul explained, his face pale. "When I came out the other end, at the very second before I passed through it, I was still in my dimension. And since you were passing through it at the exact time I came out…I was teleported inside of you."

"That's not good, is it?" Junior asked shakily, glancing up at the other man and finding him with his head in his hands. "You, uh, you're looking blurry around the edges."

Saul looked down at himself, his eyes going wide. True to Junior's word, his edges were blurring into an outline of wind, and looking closely, he could barely make out miniscule pieces of himself flying off. He turned to the older man and balked. "So are you…"

Junior nearly jumped out of his seat in panic. "What's happening?!" He cried, trying to rub the blurriness off of him.

Saul noticed that while fragments of himself were being swept away towards Junior, it was also true in reverse. "We're fusing," he muttered resignedly. "Two things can't occupy the same place at the same time. To survive, our bodies are breaking down, and fusing into one."

The black-haired man looked the fairer-haired one in confusion. "…What does that mean?" He asked slowly. "Are we dying?"

"Yes and no," the shorter man answered quietly, slumping on the a barstool, "We're combining into one person. You and I won't be…us, but we won't be dead. Just…different. Not me, not you, but both. And neither."

Junior sighed heavily, rubbing his face and jerking when he noticed his fingers seemed to have lost half their thickness. Both of them looked to have lost some serious weight, as well as physical presence. "…There's no fighting this, is there?" he asked in quiet realization.

"No," Saul shook his head, "Not really."

The club had been destroyed entirely, the world they inhabited washing away in bright light. "I never got to make my dream come true," the taller man said, sighing resignedly.

"Me neither," the shorter man commiserated, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Junior sighed again and stood up, his stool disintegrating into motes of white light. "Do you think, if I hadn't tripped, that we would've been friends?"

Saul nodded slowly, a small smile on what remained of his face. "Yeah, I think so," he said kindly. Then he held his arms out. "This is it, baby. Hold me."

What was left of Junior chuckled dryly, wrapping his arms around the remains of the smaller man. "I always wanted a younger brother," he muttered aloud.

"I think I would've liked that," the figure that had once been Saul said.

Those were the last words they traded, before collapsing into a vortex of energy, every part of their beings coalescing together.

Outside, in the real world, the body of the man once nicknamed 'Junior' began to buck and thrash as his muscles, already thick and strong, were reinforced with those of another. His heart beat wildly as it gained the strength of another, every part of him, from his organs to his bones experienced the same thing.

The fat they both had was burned to fuel their fusion, leaving skin that had once been pale peach but was now lightly tanned clinging to his musculature. His eyes twitched madly under their lids, irises that had once been gray gaining a ring of blue and an icy edge.

His aura flickered between a bombastic orange-red and a glacial blue-gray as the two souls in his body meshed, then went to work repairing the damage and easing the stress the fusion was causing.

In the end, it was nearly sunrise when his body fell still as the mind within slept.

…

He awoke with a groan, the sunlight leaking through the edges of his blinds lancing into his eyes, making him clutch his head. He stumbled out of bed with a pitiful moan and tripped his way into the attached bathroom, turning the sink on and splashing his face repeatedly until he felt somewhat like a human and not a walking hangover.

Sighing, he looked up into the mirror and jumped in surprise. The face that looked back at him was not what remembered, though he was having trouble figuring out why. The hair was too dark or too light, his eyes were too blue or too gray, his skin was too tan or too light.

Something hit him, a memory, a pair of memories from the exact same place but from two different points of view. A man, taller, with darker hair and lighter skin and another man, shorter with darker skin and lighter hair. They, he, talked to each other and the shorter one realized that they were going to combine.

The man bent over the sink as his brain throbbed in protest and his stomach lurched. He looked back up into the mirror with wide eyes, pale skin, and a mouth parted in shock. "Saul Dewitt," he murmured, touching his face, "Hei Xiong."

He was both of them, but neither at the same time. Saul's intelligence, Junior's strength. Saul's fears erased by Junior's confidence. Junior's dull wit sharpened by Saul's paranoia. Saul's dying ambition given new life by Junior's power.

More than both, but less than either. Somewhere between the two and born of both.

"Not Saul Dewitt, and not Hei Xiong," he whispered. "My name is…Saul Xiong. Both. And truly a junior."

Junior felt hysterical laughter bubbling up inside of him, but he filled his hands with water and held them over his nose and mouth until they subsided. He had no idea what his future held, or where it would take him, but he would honor both of those who created him.

He just didn't know how.

Saul 'Junior' Xiong stripped off his clothes and stepped in the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away his doubt and clear a path, but besides refreshing him, it did nothing. He did discover that he was a lot more muscular than he remembered, both as Saul and Junior, and his strength had increased as well, so much so that gently squeezing shampoo from the bottle and squirted it all over the floor and broke the bottle.

He nearly shredded a towel and yanked the rack out of the wall, and pushing the bathroom door open had embedded the door knob into the wall behind it. Very gingerly, he pulled open the closet and looked upon the rows of dark pants, white shirts, dark vests and colored ties. Something both sets of memories agreed on was that suits were _cool_. Not so much on the color, though.

Saul prefered blue, because it was a calming color and he dealt with people very often; Junior liked red because it was eye-catching and intimidating. To satisfy both desires, he reached in and grabbed the only purple tie and put it on, dressing himself and finding that he needed to roll the pant legs up a little, as he was a few inches shorter than the former Junior.

But he finished getting ready and stepped out into the living room of his apartment. As far as bachelor pads went, it was pretty tidy and rather nice, with black and red furniture and good sized TV, but no books. He'd have to change that.

The fridge was filled with food, mostly of the fast and junk variety with the only naturally-made product being juice, but whatever distaste Saul had for that was overwhelmed by the tidal wave of hunger he felt. Junior ripped through the food ravenously, devouring everything he found and only stopping when he was satisfied; which was when the fridge had been reduced to a barren wasteland.

Junior belched loudly, wiping his mouth with a napkin and feeling satisfied but a little surprised. He'd eaten about eight meals' worth of food, and Hei Xiong was no salad-picking sparrow. He should've felt sick, but he was only pleasantly full. His mind ran over several different theories before settling in one: the combining of the two before him had taken a lot of energy, which had probably been fueled by his bodyfat, which was why he now had none.

Part of him panicked, knowing that not having _any_ bodyfat was dangerously unhealthy, and was asking for a variety of health problems to spring up like mine-laden jack-in-the-boxes. But that part was soothed by the knowledge his bank account was deep enough to cover it.

As he sat at his mess-covered table, a quiet ring broke his thoughts. Looking around, Junior discovered the noise came from a jacket hastily thrown over a coat rack, and searched around in the pockets to find a slim silver rectangle bisected by a line and a yellow diamond. The diamond was flashing in time with the ringing, so he pressed it, allowing it to separate in half and light up a hard-light screen.

Pressing the scroll to his ear, he heard a male voice come over the line. " _Uh, boss?"_ The man asked cluelessly. " _That you?"_

"Yeah, what do you want?" Junior asked, refraining from pulling the scroll away from his face and examining it closely.

" _Just wonderin', since you haven't been answering any calls since yesterday,"_ the mook replied slowly, " _Anyway, you wanted me to remind you that Blackwall called. The Four Suits are meeting today."_

Part of him went still with cold dread, while the other burned with curiosity. In a twist, it was the Hei Xiong part that was afraid, and it only took a scan of his memories to realize _why._

The Four Suits were what everyone collectively called the four biggest gangs in Vale. There were smaller ones, of course, Junior's being one of them, but they were the biggest, the meanest and took the top four spots on the 'Do Not Fuck With' list. Any of them could eat his little twenty-man operation alive like a fat toad eats slow, stupid flies.

Junior licked his lips nervously, "Get a car ready, I'll be down in a few," he ordered, before hanging up and running a hand through his hair. Donning his black jacket, he pulled on his sunglasses and frowned. The lenses were red and made everything look like he was wearing broken thermal imaging goggles.

Shrugging, he stepped out into the hall, one of his mooks, wearing a black suit, red tie and glasses, along with a black hat, followed along behind him. They stepped into the elevator, took it down, and walked out of the building to find a black sedan sitting out front. It wasn't any model Saul recognized, but Xiong pointed out that he owned at least two, one of which was borrowed from a mook and were quite common for transporting people in comfort, if not style.

The driver straightened as he passed by, sweating nervously and twitching. He wore much the same as the other, except his glasses were a dark purple. "M-morning, sir," he greeted with an anxious smile.

Junior arched an eyebrow at him. "What's with the glasses?"

"I, er, that is…" He trailed off, looking down at his feet. "I broke my other pair and this is all they had at the store," the mook mumbled quickly.

He hummed, then reached out snagged the mook's glasses and swapped them with his. "There you go," Junior said succinctly, ducking into the car.

The two goons piled into the front of the car and set off while their boss stared out of the window, watching the world go by. It wasn't Seattle, where Saul was from, or Washington or Earth. It was the Kingdom of Vale, the continent of Sacus, and the World of Remnant.

A world of humans, Faunus and Grimm. Of Dust, Aura and Semblances. Familiar in some aspects, but alien in others. The technology was similar, with cars, smartphones/tablets (scrolls), airplanes and weapons. But most ran on some form of Dust, some sort of crystalized elements, the planes were advanced to the point they were only being brought into concept or had prototypes on Earth, and most weapons could compress and turn into a different form.

"Did ya hear?" One of his mooks asked the other, steering the car through a busy street. "The damn White Fang attacked another rally yesterday. I don't have anything against Faunus, but those terrorists aren't helping their cause any."

"I hear you," the other grumbled, sighing and leaning against the window. "I got a couple of friends who are Faunus and they ain't happy either."

Faunus. They were basically humans but with enhanced senses and animal traits, like ears, eyes, horns or claws. Xiong had never really cared about the Faunus and Dewitt thought the racism was stupid. Humans were probably jealous.

The passenger mook looked into the mirror at his boss. "Hey boss, you tryin' out a new look?"

Junior ran a hand through his hair, knowing they were looking at the subtle silver streaks. "Yeah," he said shortly. "I figured I'd switch it up."

The driver gave him a thumb's up. "I think it looks good, boss."

He smiled, a sarcastic edge to the expression. "Thanks."

There was silence for a few more minutes, before they pulled behind a large, two-story building. It somewhat resembled a school, but there were no children in sight. There were various men and women milling about, dressed in different colors and styles and grouping up to watch the others.

Within seconds of stepping out, Junior was accosted by a shorter man with a constantly-irritated visage and a mop of rust-red hair. "It's about fucking time you got here!" he barked, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for a stocky man. "Fucking douchebag, I called you about five goddamn times yesterday!"

"I was sick," Junior answered easily, eyeing the other man with irritation. "I was laid up in bed yesterday."

"Yeah, I bet that's what fucking happened," the man muttered mutinously. "Hurry the fuck up, the Four Suits are about to meet! I don't know why Blackwall lets you stand next to him, you only got twenty guys! I got forty, twice that much, and I make way more than you!"

Junior shrugged, smirking. "Maybe it's because he wants someone standing next to him who's taller than he is sitting down?"

The man, his name being Mike Redmond, known as 'Redface' behind his back, proved his nickname apt by flushing angrily and cursing the taller man out. Junior ignored him and he eventually went silent as they approached the door to the meeting hall. The taller one reached out and pushed lightly on the doors, causing them to fly open and bang against the walls loudly.

That drew the attention of everyone inside, their gazes burning into them. Junior subtly pointed at Redface beside him, and the other man flushed but said nothing. The occupants lost interest and turned away, except for a man who was _big_.

You ever heard the term 'built like a brick shithouse'? This man was built like four of them stacked on top of each other, with broad shoulders, arms about as thick as a teenager, a head of wild black hair and a beard to match and sharp black eyes. He wore clothes much like Junior's, but much bigger and with a patch of a shield and black castle turret on his shoulder.

His name was Hayden Blackwall, leader of the Blackwalls, the go-to gang for muscle or protection. Both Redface and Junior dealt in protection rackets and mooks and thus answered to him.

"Get over here," Blackwall rumbled like a pair of boulders grinding together, pointing a large, meaty finger at them. "And stay quiet, Redface."

The shortass would've exploded at someone calling him that to his face, but all he did was nod tightly and stand at Blackwall's left, while Junior took up the right. The gang leader eyed Junior for a scant second, lingering on his change in colors, but dismissed it as unimportant.

"And now we're just waiting for _him_ ," Blackwall muttered, leaning on a fist in boredom.

"He should be here in a few minutes," came the electronically distorted, slightly muffled voice of a woman sitting to the giant man's left. She wore a crimson cloak over black and platinum armor that included a breastplate, gauntlets and boots, with the hood up over some sort of helmet. It was faceless and black, with a trio of glowing lines forming a triangle on it. On her shoulder, there was a patch depicting a drop of blood with a shark-toothed smile.

Her name was Radeka, leader of the Bleeders and scary as all hell. She constantly wore her armor, to the point that no one knew what she looked like under it. Her gang dealt in information, blackmail and the acquiring and selling thereof, and they all carried serrated weapons. Whether it was money, information or actual blood, they'd bleed you dry if you pissed them off.

Junior had to refrain from chuckling, looking at the intimidating woman. It turns out Xiong wore red, even though he worked for Blackwall, because he found Radeka's mysterious and intimidating persona enticing. In short, he was crushing on her. He went still as the Bleeder's mask tilted towards him, and he could feel her eyes burning into him.

"He'd better hurry up," a girlish, yet raspy voice crooned, "I have… _things_ to do at home."

Junior gulped nervously as his eyes fell on the woman who spoke. She had soft, creamy yellow hair that tumbled down her shoulders in gentle waves that were pinned back to frame her face by a clip of a light yellow tulip, the bud slit up the side to show the soft pink petals within.

And those were the only times 'soft' and 'gentle' could be used in describing her.

She had tanned skin, much of which was displayed by her clothes. She wore a pink and cream-yellow bikini bottom, with a see-through pink sarong draped over her legs and a matching top that crossed in front of her neck, and dark pink veil that hid everything from her nose to her chin. All of those showed off her voluptuous curves and the way she was slouched seductively on a lounging chair; and even the long, curved scar near her stomach didn't detract from it.

What did, though, were her eyes. He'd heard rumors she was a faunus, and although they were never proven, he could see why. Her eyes burned with pure animal lust, looking like twin pools of molten gold, the atmosphere around her sexually charged.

Her name was Jessie Pinker, leader of the Pinkertons. They were flesh-mongers, dealing in the business of pleasure and hedonism, buying and trading men and women to fill their brothels or walk the streets. They did this through a combination of drug use, kidnapping and blackmail, getting them addicted and driving them so deep into debt they had no choice but to sell all they had left: themselves.

Hei had never liked them, finding their methods disturbing, and most of the Suits found them distasteful as well. "You mean _people_ , right?" Blackwall muttered, eyeing her with barely concealed contempt. Jessie waved him off with a roll of her eyes and a sexy shrug.

The door at the far end of the room burst open, admitting a man into the light. "Good morning, everyone! How's everyone doin' today?" He clapped grandly, pulling his chair out and flopping down on it, kicking his feet up on the table. "Perfect! Let's get down to it."

From Blackwall's tank-like presence, Radeka's intimidating mystery and Pinker's animal seduction, you'd expect the the last and most important of the Suits to be just as strange. But as far as 'strange' went, Al Pine, leader of the Hardliners and the biggest criminal in the building, was rather normal-looking.

His suit, mainly light gray and dark green with white designs, was very expensive and well made, and possibly infused with Dust and subtle armor plating. The sleeves were rolled up to expose his arms, which, besides a a very nice watch and a white tree tattoo, were bare, and his shoes so carelessly set on the table matched the rest.

He had dark green hair streaked with gray, and pale silver, nearly white, eyes set in a visage that radiated smugness. He was the most dangerous man in the room and he knew it.

His Hardliners were the biggest, most well-funded, armed and staffed gang in all of Vale and possibly the rest of Remnant. They sold drugs, mainly, and dabbled in everything else, since as the leader of the Suits, everyone else paid their fees to him.

With all of the chairs filled, all of the Four Suits were present. Hayden Blackwall, The Suit of Clubs. Radeka, The Suit of Spades. Jessie Pinker, The Suit of Hearts. And Al Pine, The Suit of Diamonds.

The four most dangerous gangs in Vale.

While any of the Suits could've had the run of Vale's Underground, they instead networked with each other to increase profits. A pusher could buy drugs from the Hardliners, fix a politician up and sell that info to the Bleeders, purchase some muscle for his operation from Blackwall, then relax at one of Pinkerton's brothels. Although they still skirmished a bit, and the partnership was anything but friendly, gang wars were relegated to the smaller groups and there was some sort of peace between them.

Pine flashed the room at large a mocking smile, the scar on his cheek curving in response. "I got somethin' goin' down in a few hours, so I'll make this quick: I'm jackin' up your fees a bit, keep you all on your toes and also because the new model of Puma came out yesterday and I want it. Blacky, send a couple of your goons my way, I need some fodder for my thing; PMS, we're gonna talk later about the thing and Pink, Imma want some company tonight so get some pretty asses over to my place before eight tonight."

His second, a stern-looking woman with grey hair and a suit matching his, the Hardliners' emblem of a green syringe over a white mountain proudly displayed on her chest, tapped on a larger scroll, sending the orders to them silently. Blackwall grunted in irritation, and the only sign Radeka shared his feelings was the quiet creak of her gauntlets tightening.

Jessie, however, smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Of course, dear, but why don't _I_ come over instead? I promise, I'm worth four of my thralls," she purred seductively.

The Diamond Suit chuckled mockingly. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole, you crazy bitch," he shot back, smirking.

Pinker growled under her breath as Al Pine pushed away from the table, and Redface went red in the face at the slight. "Is that all?" Blackwall rumbled sarcastically.

"A nicer attitude would be good, but yes!" Pine called over his shoulder, strutting confidently through the doors and out of sight.

Radeka stood with a nearly inaudible sigh and followed after him, while Jessie flounced off with her nose in the air.

Seeing no reason to be there any longer, Blackwall left as well, Junior and Redface following behind him. As they walked through the empty halls dotted with doors, the giant man glanced at Redmond and spoke. "Get five guys you don't like and send them Pine's way," he grunted, ducking under the lip of door.

"Why the fuck am _I_ sending _my_ guys?" Redmond protested hotly, jabbing a finger at Junior. "Send _his_ guys, they're fucking worthless! At least my guys have some skill!"

Blackwall turned an obsidian eye on the much smaller man, his lips curling in a thunderous frown. "Don't talk back to me, Redface, and what have I said about your cursing? Besides, I need them for something else," he rebuked.

Redface threw up his hands in frustration. The height still barely reached Blackwall's chest. "For the love of the gods, I thought you rolling over for Pine was pathetic, but _this_?! This is just sad," he spat in disgust.

There was a loud crunch as Blackwall punched the wall next to him, embedding his fist deep in the drywall. "You," the Suit of Clubs growled, baring his teeth, "Are on _very. Thin. Ice. Redface._ "

Redface blew his top. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, STOP CALLING ME THAT!" His face was very red. "Why does _everyone_ call me that?! You know what, NO! I'm done being your lapdog, Blackwall! I'm done being cannon fodder for that prick Pine! And I'm DONE with your favoritism!" The last part was directed at Junior.

It was with some measure of dramatic irony that said 'favorite' watched these events play out, as Blackwall generally used the small-time crook's goons for extremely boring jobs that were also stupidly dangerous. His men may not have been able to fight their way out of a paper bag, but they knew how to survive.

Redmond stuck a pair of fingers in his mouth, whistling sharply. "Boys! Time to put an old dog and his little bitch DOWN!"

Men burst out of the rooms, all of them wearing a color of red that matched Redmond's hair, wielding swords, shotguns and axes. Junior went back-to-back with his boss, swiftly counting out eight men surrounding them.

 _Why are all the goons dudes?_ He wondered, glancing at the ones surrounding him. _I really need to branch out my recruitment._

Redmond pulled what looked like a pair of ornamental belt buckles off his belt, pressing a button on their sides and allowing them to fold out into a pair of short-handled bearded axes. "Rip 'em to fucking pieces!" His face burned red and a flickering aura of the same color coated his body.

Hei had been tough and strong, a blunt weapon if anything, and he knew it. His weapon of choice was a giant baseball bat that could turn into a bazooka, after all. Conversely, Dewitt, while no twinkle-toes, relied on more sudden bursts of speed and precision than brute strength, and was surprisingly light on his feet.

He would just have to improvise.

Blackwall was considered the biggest threat, strength and size-wise, so the main body of goons went for him while a pair of them went for Junior. One brandished a sword and the other, an axe.

Sword-goon lunged at him, slashing at his head and Junior hopped back, dodging the swipe and skipping away from a follow-up chop at chest and the one after that. Swordman spun with his swing, turning it into a stab that the fusion barely slipped away from, grabbing onto the goon's arm and twisted the sword out of his hands, kicking him away.

The goon slid back several feet, his aura flickering and his shoes skidding on the floor until he bumped into a wall five feet away. Both Junior and the mooks were surprised by the show of strength, and he recovered first, hurling the sword at its former owner, where it embedded in the wall up to the hilt…four feet to the left of the mook's head.

The fusion sighed in resignation, before his attention was taken by the axe-wielding man swinging at him. Junior snapped his arm up, smacking the handle out of the goon's hand and went on the offensive, launching a pair of hooks and an uppercut at his opponent's face…that missed entirely, still thinking his arms were several inches shorter.

The mook chuckled nastily and launched a fist as Junior groaned and braced himself for the hit. He felt a quick pressure on his cheek, and nothing else. He glanced at the mook with an arched eyebrow, the other man looking mightily confused before swinging at him again. His blows barely made Junior's aura flicker, even as he went at him with rapid, wild swings.

Feeling just as confused as the other guy looked, Junior quickly smacked him across the face, sending him flying into a wall. His friend jumped at the fusion, who reflexively punched him into the floor.

"Huh," Junior said, looking down at his hands, clenching and flexing his fingers. "Well, that was surprisingly painless."

Angry roar came from behind him and Junior ducked, a pair of silver axes shrieking over his head. " _YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"_ Redmond screamed at him, the taller man barely dodging most of the wild swipes, a few deflecting off his aura and producing visible sparks. " _I'LL PAINT THIS ENTIRE BUILDING WITH YOUR BLOOD!"_

Junior slid out of the way of one axe, the other bouncing off of his arm before he punched the berserker in the face twice and uncorked a kick at his chest. Redmond shrugged them all off in favor of screaming some more and attacking him, his dual axes singing through the air. "I'm sorry, could you speak up?" he asked politely.

Redface roared in rage and launched himself at Junior, the fusion pirouetting out of the way and cuffing him in the back of the head. Redmond recovered rapidly and lunged at him again and this time Junior stood his ground.

As the enraged shortass charged towards him, bringing both axes up for a strike, Junior flexed his fingers, his vision becoming tinged a cool blue. He blinked surprise, seeing Redface moving through the air as if it had been replaced with tar, and his mind raced. His eyes took in every detail of his enemy's body, from the spittle erupting from his mouth to the white-knuckle grip he had on his weapons, and a plan formed as if pulled from the ether.

 _Grab-separate-pull-knee-head-groin-throw._

 _Speed._

It felt like lightning surged through his veins, his thoughts translated into movement in an instant, his hands snapping up to grasp Redmond's wrists and separate them, pulling the man in close and landing a knee to his chest. The silver heads of his axes passed under Junior's armpits, completely missing and the taller man twisted his wrists, disarming him and dislocating both of his limbs.

The coolness faded and Junior came back to real time, slamming his forehead into Redface's nose, his head snapping back and his aura flickering weakly and fading. Junior drove his knee into the red-head's groin, then stepped between the berserker's legs, wrapping an arm around his neck, sharply twisting and pulling.

He yanked Redmond over his hip, slamming the other man into the ground and dazing him. Junior took a knee and grasped Redmond's chin with one hand and the back of his head with another, twisting his neck and pointing his chin up and to the left.

"Give up!" he grit out between clenched teeth as the berserker thrashed in his hold, "You're out of juice, and aura won't heal a snapped neck!"

"You're dead!" Redmond spat furiously, "I'll fucking find you and I'll bleed you dry and make you watch as I kill your family andthere'snowhereyoucanhideyoufucker-"

Junior gulped and made up his mind. He shifted his grip on Redmond, anchoring his hold on the man's jaw and squeezing his head between his arm and hand. Then he pushed with one hand and yanked with the other, breaking Redface's neck with a loud, wet crack.

Redmond stiffened, his eyes wide at his sudden ability to look at Junior despite the taller man being both behind and over him, before he went limp and died.

Junior dropped the corpse to the floor, breathing heavily as his heart hammered against his ribs. Hei had killed before, when he was attacked with the threat of death, but Dewitt had only dreamed of such things. He had no idea what to think or feel, besides vaguely sick and unsure.

"You are different," a deep voice rolled and he jumped, looking up to find Blackwall staring down at him with thoughtful black eyes. "You offered mercy and delivered punishment when he refused. The Junior I remember would've clubbed Redmond to the floor and turned to me for judgement."

Junior waved a hand vaguely. "I thought it was time for a change," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"I can see that," the Suit of Clubs grunted, kneeling next to the corpse and rifling through its pockets, coming up with a scroll. He tossed it to Junior, who fumbled the catch and nearly smacked himself in the face. "You're responsible for Redmond's death, so now you have _his_ responsibilities. His men and operations are yours."

The fusion glanced down at the dead man's scroll. "Uh…thanks?"

Blackwall looked down at him, stroking his beard in thought. "You could be great, Junior, but you lack the skill required to use your full potential," he rumbled, "I know someone who could start you on that path, and for your loyalty, I'll direct you to him. In the meantime, take control of your new holdings. I'm going to leave, myself, before Pine finds another reason to fine me."

The giant man turned and stomped, leaving behind Junior and the corpse of Redmond, along with the bodies of the mooks he had slammed through walls and crushed into the floor.

Junior eventually stumbled back to his car, carrying the compressed forms of the silver axes and the scroll. He waved for the driver to leave, looking down at the innocuous grey rectangle in his hand. It was the key that would unlock the door to his ambition, an ambition he was willing to kill for. Hei had wanted a place to call his own and loyal men; Dewitt wanted more but lacked the power to get it.

He had both, and he would use it to honor the ones who made him, by becoming greater than they could ever be.

Junior would make the Underground _his_. Even if he had to throw out the old deck and bring in his own.

…

…

…

 **A/N: Boom. Dropping a bombshell on ya with another possible story, this one very different from my normal fare. I don't think there are many stories where the Self-Insert pretty much dies in the first chapter or gets fused with someone else and becomes a criminal set on building an empire. Usually they become a hero or an angst-filled vigilante.**

 **Not this guy.**

 **So, the gangs are all OC's. Visually, Al Pine is pretty much the Al Pacino version of Scarface, but pushed through the RWBY filter. Jessie Pinker is based on a mix of Dark Side Jaesa Willsaam from SWTOR and Mileena from Mortal Kombat, who are both sexy but creep me out. Radeka is pretty much Ana Amari's Shrike skin from Overwatch, but with crimson, silver and black and the triangle on the visor pointing up, and Blackwall is based on Blackwall from Dragon Age Inquisition and Hagrid.**

 **Mike 'Redface' Redmond is based on Michael Jones, the Rage-Quit guy from Rooster Teeth. Believe it or not, I actually like the guy, I just needed someone I wouldn't care about killing.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you want to see this become a full story, remember to vote for it in the poll!**

 **Big thanks, as always, to NorthSouthGorem and Kurogane7 for the help. Give them a look and see! In the meantime, favorite and review and make me smile, please.**

 **Stay Awesome.**

 **~Soleneus**

 **P.S.: Hey look at that, all the names fit the naming scheme! Christ, that's hard.**

 **Also, you may have noticed that the people in here swear by 'the gods', and** _ **NOT**_ ' **Oum' or 'Monty'.** _ **THAT**_ **is one massive piece of the fandom that pisses me off. The guy was humble, humorous and dedicated, and I can't see him naming a deity after himself. That's rather egotistical and doing that feels like a giant insult to me, and while I can't say for sure, I doubt he'd like it either.**

 **So fucking stop it. Pay your respects another way.**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


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